Asylum
by Haunter of the Dark
Summary: Mary Alice Brandon was born in Biloxi in 1901. This is her story, of how she came to the asylum, and what happened there. Dark, one-shot. Slightly AU.


**A/N: Well, here we are again, another day, another is a relatively dark one-shot about Alice's upbringing and time spent in the asylum. Technically AU as it extrapolates a fair amount, but I think this is still factually fairly accurate. May end up a two-shot if people like this one – thinking maybe explaining how Alice finds out about her past later, and why James was tracking her. But it could remain an unsolved mystery - up to you guys. If it does end up with more chapters, then I can't promise fast updates - writing takes me a while, what with typing up, redrafting and corrections, and I'm soon headed back to university, so the work will soon start piling up unfortunately. I am interested in doing some beta work though, so if you're looking for a beta, I'll be accepting requests in the not too distant future. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time out to review/favourite my last story, 'On A Valentine's Day', it was you who keep me going and made me decide to try another dark one – so this one's thanks to you, ****SaneTwin1-2 :) And of course to the music that inspires me so much – Avenged Sevenfold, Papa Roach, Metallica, Disturbed, Pendulum and so many other artists I listen to day in, day out. Anyway, enjoy – and if you could take just a few seconds to write me a review then you can feel happy in knowing that you've made my day by doing so.**

**Disclaimer: I neither own, nor claim to own the 'Twilight' franchise and no challenge is made nor implied to the owner's copyright.  
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**Mary Alice Brandon was born in Biloxi in 1901. Her Father, William Oswald Brandon, was a successful entrepreneur, who, along with his wife Eleanor, lived in a sizeable town house close to the harbour. In this household, no luxury was spared – William had worked hard for his money and was happy to lavish it upon his loved ones. So, his firstborn grew up with everything she needed, among rich furnishings, exquisite carpets and luxuriant ornaments from around the world.

However, the decadence which surrounded Mary Alice did not spoil her. Almost as soon as she could walk, she took in her surroundings with constant wonder, ever asking questions, curious about everything she saw and heard. In her early years, she spent much of her time with nannies and tutors, who supervised her upbringing, nurturing the early promise which she showed. Of her many carers, her favourite by far was Eliza, a plump, motherly woman who had been by the young girl's side even from her earliest days. It was Eliza who would always call her 'little Alice', a name which she immediately adopted, stubbornly refusing to call herself Mary, even when her mother scolded her about it. It was Eliza who would, on sunny afternoons, take Alice for walks out into the Mississippi countryside, which enthralled her – she would spend the whole time asking her nanny yet more questions about all the animals and birds, all the trees, plants and flowers which she saw in the hedgerows.

The years steadily passed, and Alice grew from the quaint little girl she had been to a young woman, headstrong, intelligent and already strikingly beautiful. Now, her parents began to take a more active role in her education. Her father would often answer her queries about business, sometimes sitting down with her and talking her through some of his accounting books. She would listen attentively, and at the end of the evening, William would ruffle his daughter's hair and tell her how proud he was. Although he hoped she would marry well, he also knew that his Alice would never settle to just being a housewife, so he could do no better than teach her of the family's business. His wife wished for Alice to grow up as an independent, forward-thinking woman, but nonetheless a true lady who would do honour to the Brandon name. So they would spend hours together on a Sunday afternoon, at tea rooms or among the town's fine boutiques. The beautiful clothes on sale enraptured Alice, from ballroom dresses and gowns to the heeled shoes and slippers, she marvelled at the elaborate and exotic materials and colours, set with opulent gems and inlaid with precious metals, never ceasing to ask questions about everything.

All in all, Alice was all that the Brandons could have ever wished for in a daughter. But the idyllic life she lived was not to last forever. It all began in late November, when Alice returned home from school late. Her mother opened the front door to find Alice visibly shaken, pale and frightened. Her parents dismissed her nannies and sat her down in the study. Shakily, she recounted how she had been making her way out of the private school she attended as dusk began to descend, when she was approached in a side street by a strange man – pale, broad-shouldered and muscular; he wore his hair back, in a slick ponytail. Alice told of how had blocked her way, taken a long, deep breath and sighed, licking his lips, before looking at her with wide, red eyes. Then, he had disappeared from sight almost faster than she could see. Alice's parents did not know what to make of it – their daughter had a vivid imagination, but was not known for lying. So, William circulated a description of the man whom Alice had reported, assuring her that he would soon be found and investigated by the authorities.

But, of course, the man was never found. Although outwardly, Alice seemed none the worse for her encounter, William and Eleanor could not help but fear what had happened to her, wondering if there was something she wasn't letting on. Soon, the girl was waking at night, screaming, with the bedclothes twisted around her as she struggled. Sometimes, she would dream of the red-eyed man, always following her, the same twisted grin on his face. But, there were other dreams, dreams of places and people she could not identify. Time and again, she would awake, feverish and terrified, a fresh set of images imprinted inexplicably into her mind. Her parents were already afraid – they had no explanation why their daughter was acting this way, and all they knew was that she was not getting any better. But, with more of her nightmares, they began to observe a truly disquieting pattern. Everything she saw would, sooner or later, happen, be it something around the household or events reported in the newspapers on a national scale. Try as she might to act normal, Alice became steadily more withdrawn, obsessed with the things that she had seen, horrified by what was going to happen more often than not.

In time, things only grew worse. Her visions were no longer limited to the night, and she would frequently zone out, sometimes drawing her thoughts, only to find herself terrified by what she had produced. Some nights, she would lie awake, too afraid to fall asleep, and she would hear raised voices. Her mother's voice, shrill and fearful, her father angry, frustrated – both of them arguing about what should be done about their daughter's condition. She would lie there, shivering, hugging her bedclothes, wishing she knew what would become of her.

And then one day, it happened. In class, Alice foresaw several particularly gruesome murders which would happen down by the docks, only a short way from her home. And, the next morning, there they were, across all the papers. This time, the Brandons were unable to keep their daughter's abilities quiet. In school, questions were being asked, rumours were spreading like wildfire. Some said that it was Alice who had done the killings, others claimed that she had possessed the murderers. By the evening, there was no longer any question – this time, something had to be done. The argument raged on long into the night this time, Alice lying there weeping into her pillow, listening to the exchange of voices. Then, her father appeared. And he told her that she was going away.

'Away?' she asked innocently. 'Away', he repeated. So, she was bundled out into the night to a waiting carriage. Her mother stood in the doorway to the house, tears spilling down her cheeks. 'Mama – don't be sad!' Alice told her, 'I'll see you again – won't I?'. No response came. And before she could say another word, the carriage pulled away, into the night, away from the warmth and light of her home. It was the last time that she would ever see her parents.

For what seemed like hours, the carriage rattled its way into the darkness, and Alice sat frozen in her seat, her heart breaking, insides burning with the terror of the unknown which lay ahead. Little did she know that the truth was, for once, far worse than her imagination. Eventually, the cart pulled to a halt by a long, tree-lined path which led away from the road. A tall, silent man was already waiting, holding a lantern. He beckoned her wordlessly, and together they made their way down the gravel drive. Eventually, a sprawling red brick building began to loom from the woods, a few lights visible at its barred windows. As they drew close to the door, the man drew out a ring of keys, and unlocked the hefty wooden portal, which swung in with a creak, ushering Alice inside.

Now, Alice felt true, icy horror flooding her veins as she read the plaque which was mounted on the wall. 'Welcome to Biloxi Lunatic Asylum'. She felt breathless, her knees weakening – she would never see the world outside again. Tears began to spill, clouding her sight, as someone came forth and hauled her through the long hallways, until she found herself on a bed. There she wept until sleep claimed her.

And from then on, time seemed to stand still as the days began to merge. Morning would bring pale light, spilling in through wide, frosted windows, silhouettes of trees ghostly beyond the glass. The corridors were always gloomy, all stained concrete walls and glossy plastic floors, ever-reeking of antiseptic. Passageway after passageway wound through the dingy interior of the asylum, lined with nameless, locked doors. Sometimes, Alice would try to peer through one of the smoky windows into the rooms, but before she could see anything, she was always dragged onwards. The staff were all much alike – cold, wordless and uncaring, without mercy should an inmate step out of line. However, one was different – a young man, who looked only a few years older than her. Rugged and handsome, he was tall but pale, his dark hair always a little scruffy. He was well-spoken, his voice silky but gentle. He showed compassion to all his patients, never growing angry – he never needed to. It took Alice some time to learn that his name was Maxwell – Doctor Maxwell Robertson. Soon, she realised that she had fallen for him – who could resist a man like that? Her heart always fluttered a little when he would smile at her – her hopeless fantasy serving as a reminder that she was still human.

Alice's feelings for Maxwell were one of the few concrete things which she had left. Slowly but surely, she began to feel herself slipping away. Her certainty that she did not belong in the asylum faded the longer that she spent among its inhabitants. She was giving up her will to fight, or perhaps it was just her giving in to the medication, supposedly meant to suppress her visions. Every few days, she would be taken into one of the surgeries, all white-tiled walls and porcelain, with a black leather chair standing in the centre of each. These rooms would always smell even more strongly of antiseptic, or sometimes the air was choked with the ferric tang of blood, probably spilt by the bladed steel tools which were lain aside in trays. Just looking at them would make Alice's skin crawl, so she would fix her attention on the array of bottles, jars and boxes, all full of powders, pills and coloured liquids, straining to read the neat ink labels. Then, she would feel a sharp pain, as she was injected with something. She would spend hours after confused, with her sight blurred, staggering through the corridors, eventually finding herself back in her bed with her whole world spinning.

At night, the asylum would take on a fearful air. The screams of the less controllable inhabitants would echo down the corridors, full of anger and terror – but what frightened Alice was not the screams themselves but how abruptly they would cease. When sleep would eventually take her, Alice would often dream of the world outside the walls – as though the doors were no longer locked and she could feel the wind in her hair, the sun on her face and the dance of cool rain upon her skin. As time went on, she would dream more often of the red-eyed man who had stopped her before, months ago. Or was it years now? Sometimes, she was certain she could see him in the asylum itself, prowling the corridors, lurking around corners, always grinning. The longer she spent there, the more dreams and reality seemed to grow together.

One night, her vision was stronger than ever before. Alice saw the man, unchanged as ever, pale flesh gleaming in the little light which was spilling in the doorway to the dormitory, grinning, eyes red, almost glowing with their intensity, a hunger visible in his expression. Somehow she knew that this time, he would kill her – whatever he had been waiting for had now come to pass. She woke up bolt upright in bed, screaming, and could not stop. The more the staff tried to calm her, the more frantic she grew, convinced that he was really there, awaiting her. She screamed and screamed, desperate to break free from their hold on her. Then, she felt a blinding pain as someone struck her so hard that lights danced before her eyes, and she slipped away into blackness.

When Alice awoke this time, she could barely see. Her head was in pain, and when she raised a hand to her face, with horror she realised that she'd been hit hard enough to make her cry blood. She was in a part of the asylum she had never seen before. The room was tiny, rust staining the walls – there was no window, only a dim electric lamp above throwing out a feeble yellow glow. She knew that from here there was really no way out – no hope, nothing left for her. And so her days passed in darkness. Twice each day, food would be pushed in through the door. Once, she gave up eating, wishing only to be left alone but before long she was force-fed. Sometimes the doctors would visit, take notes, ask her about her visions, which she would always flatly deny, even though they were growing stronger and more frequent. Every time, they would nod, looking unconvinced by her stories, before leaving without comment.

After what Alice guessed was a few months in her new cell, she had lost all her will to even try to escape, for she could not even clearly remember the world outside these walls. She could not remember truly how she had got here, nor why. Everything which had once tied her to who she was had gone. But then, one night, something happened which she never could have foreseen.

The cell was pitch black as usual, and Alice had been drifting in and out of sleep. Abruptly, she awoke - someone was in the doorway. Immediately, her heart leapt in fear that it was the red-eyed man, but as her eyes strained against the sudden light of a lamp, she saw that it was Maxwell, who moved quietly inside the room, pushing the door gently to behind him.

The young doctor placed the lamp down and took a seat on the edge of her bed. 'Good evening Alice', he smiled. He was the only one among the asylum staff who had taken any notice of the girl's preference for her middle name.

'Good evening, doctor Robertson', she replied weakly, not sure what to expect. It was the first time anyone had visited her and in this cell and actually addressed her like a human being.

'Alice, I'll come straight to the point. I've observed your behaviour over the past months, and I am absolutely certain that you don't belong in here. Your talent will not be suppressed by any medication or treatment that we use here, and you are certainly not insane. I've voiced my views to the other senior doctors, but they sadly do not share my opinion on the matter. However, I know what's happening. I know of the man whom you speak, and I know what he is. And even within these four walls, you will not be safe from him much longer. He is drawn with thirst, and neither locked door nor barred window will hold him back when he decides it is time to claim you. But... I can offer you a way to escape. I can get you out of this place, and you will finally be safe from the man who is hunting you'.

'I thought you said I wouldn't be able to leave?'.

'Well – not in the sense you're thinking. The pain won't last for long, and then – then you'll be free forever'.

Alice felt confused. Did he mean that she was going to die? She felt a shiver course through her- but she dully realised that it didn't matter any more. She didn't know whether she wanted to live on any longer, here in the endless night. She felt as though she had truly lost her mind.

'So', Maxwell continued, 'Will you accept my offer?'

She nodded, past caring. Nothing could be worse than the waking nightmare she had been trapped in for so long now.

He smiled grimly. 'As I have warned you, Alice, the pain may be terrible. But when it's gone, you'll be in a better place. I promise'. He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands. 'And... Alice... I hope that you might remember me too. And that one day, perhaps, we'll see each other again. I know not where, but perhaps... For I will remember you'. He took her hand briefly. 'May I?'.

She nodded once more, and he gently kissed her hand. 'Goodbye Alice', he stated simply. Then he drew a syringe from his pocket.

She felt a brief jab of pain as ever, and Maxwell's handsome face swum before her. The blackness began to swallow her up, as she felt her body grow heavy. She did not fight it, never wondering what would happen, merely commending herself to oblivion – and then there was nothing.

When Alice awoke, she could not tell whether she was alive or dead. She was in an airless, dark space, lying down with no room to move. She couldn't breathe – or didn't need to. She could remember nothing except half-seen visions and blinding, white hot pain coursing through her body in the dark. As her mind began to clear a little, she realised that things felt different. She could sense the earth around her, and her throat felt red-raw, burning with thirst. Then, abruptly, everything fell into place. She had been buried alive, though how or why she knew not. Sudden, wild claustrophobia pressed in on her, as she frantically scrabbled at the coffin she was trapped in, desperate to escape, regardless of what faced her outside. To her amazement, her blows splintered the wood, damp earth spilling in. In moments, she clambered her way to the surface and crawled out, blinded by the sudden brightness after the subterranean gloom.

As the world came into focus once more, Alice saw that there was grass beneath her feet, among the trees where she now stood. The sun was just beginning to rise, and she could feel the morning breeze on her face. She almost cried with joy at the sensation of life once more, outside the walls of the asylum, which she could still see, looming through the woods. Alice turned and ran, the wind whipping against her face. She could not remember who she was, or where she had come from. All she knew for certain was that a new life awaited her, stretching away to forever.

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**A/N : So there you have it. There may be another chapter on its way – tell me in a review :) Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed it!**


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